


A Wish Fulfilled

by autumn_witch_22



Series: Hello, Yellow Brick Road [1]
Category: Frasier (TV)
Genre: Based on S04E03: "The Impossible Dream", Because I have a better idea of what I'm doing with these two now, But other stories will have The Smut (TM), First Kiss, Frasier has more dreams and does some more analyzing, I changed my mind about the smut sorry, I dropped the rating down from M to T on this one, M/M, Misunderstandings because this is Frasier of course, Oh and this is going to be a slow burn :), Some fluffiness and flirting, coming to terms with sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_witch_22/pseuds/autumn_witch_22
Summary: Frasier thought he had finally figured out what his dreams about Gil meant. But as it happened, he wasn't completely honest about his feelings--even to himself. That's about to change when he walks into work one day and finds something that will help put his life in perspective. (Based on the episode, "The Impossible Dream").
Relationships: Frasier Crane/Gil Chesterton
Series: Hello, Yellow Brick Road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001853
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Gilbert On My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just now starting to watch Frasier again, so I hope the characters are still somewhat recognizable as themselves! There are so few fics out there about Gil as far as I could see, and I've always thought it would be interesting to explore a relationship between him and Frasier. 
> 
> I honestly have no idea where this story is going...just letting the words flow out and my muse direct me when it can. (Hopefully that means this story will be somewhat coherent in the process. :P) There will be fluff, humor, and a few serious bits thrown in for good measure. So, hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! :)

Frasier Crane thought he knew himself better than most. He had always been certain when it came to his sexuality, and he had never even entertained the idea that he might have an attraction to another man. At least until those unusual dreams started, then...well, then he _wasn't_ so certain anymore.

Good lord, even now, just thinking about it made him blush furiously. The image of the motel room still lingered in his mind--the crescent-shaped lamp on the nightstand, the tattoo spelling out "Chesty" in swirling cursive letters on his forearm, and especially the figure of Gil Chesterton stepping out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and an impish smile on his lips. 

Frasier liked Gil as a coworker. He could act a little pompous at times, but he had impeccable taste in food (he was a critic, after all) and was usually cheerful and almost always easy to talk to. But why, Frasier wondered, had these dreams about Gil come about so suddenly? He wished that he could find a suitable answer. Even after discussing the dreams with his father Martin, his brother Niles, and even Daphne Moon, he still wasn't satisfied with his own conclusions. 

Frasier didn't enjoy doubting himself, and he definitely balked at the strong and unfamiliar doubt that had begun to settle in his mind lately. Perhaps the dreams really _had_ stemmed from a lack of interesting callers on his show, as he'd concluded to his dad. But he quickly realized that they couldn't be dismissed as _only_ a product of boredom and nothing else. God knew trying explain that fully to his dad and to keep delving into the psychological details would be an exercise in futility. 

He still adherred to the theory that his subconscious had taken his state of boredom and turned his analytical powers inward. Then at that point, perhaps, he had begun to piece together some of his thoughts and feelings which he hadn't realized were present. That was plausible... wasn't it?

Frasier wished that he could speak to Niles about his dreams again. Even after his show finally got busier a few weeks ago, they kept returning and becoming more vivid. His tentative new theories only seemed to get stronger each night, and the dreams had also started to grow more... _intimate,_ as well. Out of anyone, he trusted that Niles could potentially bring some more insight into this ongoing situation. But his brother had his own concerns at the moment, and they hadn't had a chance to talk for more than a few minutes at a time.

Unfortunately, Frasier's inner struggle had continued to affect his day-to-day encounters with Gil. He couldn't even look him in the face anymore, especially once the dreams intensified. Every time they did run into each other, Gil would grin or wave or make some other relatively innocent gesture and Frasier's whole face would immediately flush as he averted his eyes.

Roz Doyle - true to form - kept teasing him mercilessly, too, which definitely did not help the situation at all. Yesterday, after they were wrapping up the show, she asked out of the blue, "So, when are you two going to go out on a date?"

Frasier had taken off his headphones and stared firmly at her.

"What do you mean?" he countered, although he knew exactly what she meant and could already feel his ears stinging. 

"You and Gil," said Roz breezily. "The tension between you two is off the charts! You know, a few of us were actually thinking of making a bet on which one of you cracks first and makes the first move. Personally, I'm putting my money on Gil." 

Frasier groaned miserably, hiding his face in his hands for a moment. "Please don't do that, for the love of God."

He looked back up to see Roz's teasing smirk.

"I have just a _few_ erotic dreams about _one_ man, and now people want to bet on whether we'll become a real couple!" exclaimed Frasier. "This is unbelievable. I can't even say hello to Gil without feeling awkward. Maybe... I mean... Roz, do you think Gil feels awkward about this whole thing, too, and is just trying to play it off as not a big deal?"

Roz shrugged.

"I guess there's one way to find out," she said. "Just ask him, Frasier. What's it going to hurt, really? Maybe getting everything out in the open is what you both need, and when you know where you each stand, go from there." She added with a laugh, "But just so you know, I've got twenty bucks that says Gil asks first." 

The thought of actually sitting down in person and addressing everything with Gil mortified Frasier more than anything he could have imagined. How the hell would he even begin that conversation?

_Hello, Gilbert. Gil. Old friend. I've been having some rather intense recurring dreams about you lately, as you've already been made aware of, and I'm not exactly sure why or what this means in terms of my sexuality. You're probably just as embarrassed about this as I am, so if we don't actually feel attracted to each other that way, I hope we can still be good colleagues._

It sounded simple enough. Fairly direct and careful, with the chance of things going one way or the other. Depending on Gil's reaction, Frasier could always apologize and try to smooth things over. Or he might discover the emotions that he had been experiencing _were_ true and that Gil...felt the same way.

That possibility made Frasier's heartbeat quicken with a flutter of nervousness and cautious hope. He hadn't told anyone about his most recent dreams yet, but they had actually given him a better glimpse into himself in a way that some of the others hadn't before. Maybe they would even give him the confidence to talk to Gil--at least, eventually.

For the past few nights, he dreamt that he was in his own apartment and settling down for bed (thank God for that, the motel room was _horrid_ ). He had just found a comfortable position when he felt someone tuck themselves in behind him and slip one arm forward to hold him close. Sometimes that was when these recent dreams ended, or he would even hear a softly-spoken, " _Goodnight, my love._ " But one night this past week, he was treated to a new ending. 

_"I must say, this is much better than that cheap motel," whispered his companion this time._

_Frasier hummed in agreement. It was silent for a while as the two of them seemed to doze off. Suddenly Frasier felt movement behind him, and then, a soft kiss was planted on the back of his neck. He jolted slightly, caught off guard; but after a second, longer kiss to the same spot, he sighed and relaxed again._

_"There's nothing to be afraid of, my love," his companion assured. "You'll know when you're ready."_

The moment had felt so real and unexpected that Frasier woke up the next morning with his neck tingling. He couldn't recall a dream affecting him that profoundly before. As much as he wanted Niles' opinion on these latest developments, he didn't know if he should tell his brother about that particular detail. 

_He doesn't need to know everything,_ Frasier reasoned, _Besides, I'm sure he's gotten fed up with having to psychoanalyse his own brother's nightly fantasies._

However he proceeded, he knew he would have to make a decision soon... or else he would never be able to have any sort of healthy interaction with Gil again. 


	2. The First Move (ish)

Frasier didn't expect much when he came to work the following day.

He certainly didn't expect to see a small bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk, along with a plain blue card. He opened it and was slightly startled. Someone - he suspected he knew who - had written out a poem by Langston Hughes. He recalled with a chuckle that this particular poem was, aptly enough, called "Dreams." He read it aloud to himself softly.

_"Hold fast to dreams_

_For if dreams die_

_Life is a broken-winged bird_

_That cannot fly._

_"Hold fast to dreams_

_For when dreams go_

_Life is a barren field_

_Frozen with snow."_

Something tugged at his stomach - something elusive and compelling. The poem and flowers were both such small gestures, but their simplicity struck an undeniable chord with him. Besides, he couldn't help but see a little bit of the ironic humor in the choice of poem, too. With all of that in mind, could it really be that... or was it too much to consider... ? 

Frasier was pulled from his swirling thoughts by Roz stepping into the room. She immediately noticed the new addition to his desk and started to grin.

"Oh, and what do we have here?" she asked. She reached out to touch one of the roses in the bouquet. "Something from a special admirer of yours?"

"I have no idea," said Frasier, sitting down and trying to maintain a calm demeanor. His heart hadn't quite gotten the memo yet, because it was intent on forcing its way out of his chest. "Whoever they are, they've decide to leave their gift anonymously."

Roz positively glowed with excitement. 

"Any ideas on who it might be?" she said, a knowing gleam already in her eyes. 

Frasier attempted a glare but couldn't quite manage it. He replied in a slow, cautious tone, "Yes... yes, I have some idea of who it is, although I don't quite see why that should be of _any_ concern to you or to anyone else around here." 

"All right, all right." Roz held up her hands and headed back toward the door. At the last moment, she added conspicuously under her breath, "I guess I'll have to raise the bet even higher now, huh?" 

"I heard that, Roz," Frasier pointed out.

She replied, "Good, I hoped you might!"

* * *

For the rest of the day, Frasier fought to keep his anticipation in check. He was almost a hundred percent certain that Gil had left those flowers and the card in the studio.

Surely it wasn't a prank by someone at the radio station, right? Why would they bother going to the trouble? Well... he could think of a _few_ people who might try to pull something like that at his expense. Like Roz, perhaps. Or Bulldog... _especially_ Bulldog, he thought with a groan.

But again, Frasier didn't think that was the case here. The gesture felt too natural and deliberate to him. The flowers were a modest selection, not overly done, with healthy roses, sunflowers, and a few that he couldn't quite identify at the moment. Then there was the card, which didn't bear a signature or even a maudlin line such as _'To my dearest Frasier, with love.'_

He smiled as he read over the poem again. He took in the neat, swooping letters and how they seemed to imbue the words with even more expressiveness. _Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die..._

Frasier decided that he would take the flowers and card home with him at the end of the day. There would probably be questions as soon as he walked through the apartment door. Did he really want to endure that and accidentally let his suspicions slip?

_No, it will be fine,_ he thought. _I can handle it._ _I'll_ _just have to prepare myself mentally for the onslaught._

Later, as he was making his way out of the station, Frasier happened to spot Gil in one of the hallways. He was talking whole-heartedly with some fellow coworkers. One of them must have made a particularly hilarious joke, because all of a sudden, the whole group erupted into a fit of laughter. 

Frasier stopped. His eyes froze on Gil, and he became all too aware of the unguarded emotion he saw in the man's face. This was a candid moment, one he wasn't truly a part of. He shouldn't spoil it with his unsolicited presence. But his feet refused to move from that spot, and he couldn't keep himself from staring openly at Gil, either. He observed the way Gil hid his face in his hands, and how his whole body shook with the effort of trying to contain his laughter. When he lowered his hands for a moment, Frasier noticed how his eyes had brightened with joyful tears. 

To see someone else letting go of their composure and enjoying themselves... Frasier couldn't help but acknowledge the strange sort of happiness blooming inside him at that sight.

Finally, after taking a deep, steadying breath, he tore himself away the scene. But he didn't make it more than a couple of steps before he heard a familiar voice behind him. 

"Oh, Frasier!"

Hesitantly, he turned back around. Gil approached him quickly, a huge grin plastered on his face. He was still trying to get his laughter under control, and clearing his throat didn't seem to help much. His tone was light and cheerful when he spoke. He looked thrilled to have caught Frasier's attention, too. 

"Ah, I knew that I recognized you," he said. "You've made a point of ignoring me for weeks, Frasier. I thought I'd _never_ get to speak to you again, and frankly, I felt a little hurt by you giving me the cold shoulder!" 

His gaze slid to the flowers tucked in the crook of Frasier's arm. His mood seemed to brighten even further, if that was possible.

"Lovely flowers." He chuckled playfully. "From an admirer, perhaps?"

Frasier could already feel his cheeks turning hot. God, he kept turning into a shy, nervous mess whenever he was around Gil. This was honestly starting to get a bit pathetic on his part. 

"I-I think so, but, um... I don't know who yet," he stammered. "They didn't give their name, their phone number, or anything like that."

Gil raised a delighted eyebrow. "Oooh, a _secret_ admirer, then. How mysterious and fun! Well, whoever they are, I'd say that they've made an excellent choice."

He touched Frasier's arm for a moment, his smile softening. 

"I do hope you find out who your admirer is soon," he said quietly.

Once Gil departed, Frasier let out a long breath that he had been holding. His thoughts were racing faster than ever before, but one thought stood out from the rest: _It's him, I know it's him._

He left the station dazed, enthralled, with even less of a clue as to what he should do, but with this conviction firmly taking root in his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be slightly vague about the flowers, because I don't remember what time of year this episode is set in and I have a very limited knowledge of which flowers are in season. :)
> 
> Also, tenderness / flirting makes my heart go brrr.
> 
> ("Dreams" by Langston Hughes was first published in 1922.)


	3. A Chronic Case of Doubt

Frasier arrived home to a relatively calm and quiet scene. Martin sat in his usual chair with Eddie curled up in his lap. The TV was on; by the sound of the commentary, they were re-running of one of the Seahawks games. Occasionally his dad offered his own input, interrupting the game with an exasperated groan or an excited shout. Frasier heard someone moving around in the kitchen and soon caught a glimpse of Daphne, who had just pulled something out of the fridge. Niles remained unaccounted for. 

"Hi, Frasier," Martin said, glancing up. 

"Hey, Dad. Is Niles around?" He was almost tempted to add, _I have a lot of personal things to discuss with him that you may not be even **remotely** prepared to hear about. _Thankfully, he curbed his tongue. 

Martin shook his head.

"No, as a matter of fact. He called here earlier and said he'd be running late again. He's still got some patients who've been giving him a rough time of it lately. Said he'd get home ASAP." 

Frasier sighed in frustration. Well, he supposed that couldn't be helped; he would arrange to have his discussion with Niles some other time. He had crossed the living room and started toward his bedroom when Martin spoke up. 

"What're the flowers for, son?"

 _Damn, I called that one, didn't I?_ Frasier stopped, turned around, and tried to remember one of the responses he had rehearsed on his way home.

"Oh, this?" He gestured faintly at the bouquet. "It's nothing, really. Just a gift from someone...probably a friend who wanted to show their appreciation for a job well done." 

"Well, can I see them?" Martin asked. 

Frasier walked over reluctantly and passed over the bouquet. As Martin eyed the flowers, Eddie raised his head to stare at Frasier. God, he _hated_ when Eddie did that! It always felt so unnerving to him, like the dog could somehow peer into the depths of his soul or... _something_ like that. 

Martin handed the flowers back, and Frasier accepted them gratefully. 

"Those are nice," said his dad with an approving nod. "Why don't you put them over there on the table?" 

Frasier's next words came unbidden to his lips.

"Actually, Dad, I wanted to keep them in my room."

That earned him a surprised look and a raised eyebrow. Meanwhile, a little voice in the back of his mind began whispering urgently, _O_ _h god, oh no, you idiot._

A smirk curled at Martin's lips.

"I see," he said. "Are these flowers from a special someone, then?"

"You could say that," said Frasier, trying to keep his voice even. "An anonymous special someone, so it seems."

Just then, Daphne walked into the living room holding a cup of tea and a sandwich. She took a sip from her mug before saying brightly, "Hello, Dr. Crane! Oh, where did you get those flowers from? They look lovely."

"He says they're from 'an anonymous special someone' at his job," said Martin, still smirking. 

Daphne smiled. "Well, that's wonderful! Do you have any thoughts on who it might be that left them? Perhaps my psychic abilities could be useful to you in this matter." 

Frasier groaned inwardly, shaking his head. He had almost put Daphne's "powers" out of his mind. Now he would have to exert some energy into forgetting that piece of information once again. 

"No, no, that's not necessary," he assured her. "But thank you." 

Seeing that neither his dad nor Daphne were about to press the issue further, Frasier hurried down the hall to his room. Relief rushed through him once he closed the door. If he'd stayed out there any longer, he might have let something else slip and that was the _last_ thing he wanted to happen. He sighed and set the flowers down on his nightstand. 

This couldn't go on forever. Frasier recognized how flimsy the façade was that he'd put up, especially with people like his dad. Especially with _himself,_ for heaven's sake! How would he ever bolster his confidence enough to fully confront the possibility that lay before him? 

_I don't think I'm afraid of that possibility, either,_ he thought. _At least I was able to admit that much to Dad. And maybe it's true... maybe I'm discovering another part of me that I didn't know about until now. So, what's really holding me back from it, then?_

That question followed him long after he had fallen asleep that evening. In those unconscious hours, away from everyone else, he noticed how the uncertainty of this whole matter wavered and he started to let down his guard. Here, in his safe, private dreamscape, he didn't have to actively conceal or explain away his emotions. He could more readily acknowledge the patterns that kept appearing, night after night.

It was there in a light kiss or even in a fond look. It was especially there in his companion's embrace--arms reaching out, the space between them vanishing as they settled close to one another. It was passion, comfort, and most of all, _warmth._

And yet... there was still doubt, too.

_"What do you think is holding me back?" Frasier wondered. "Why can't I trust myself? Why don't I trust how I must feel?"_

_His companion rubbed his arm soothingly._

_"Because feelings are a tricky thing," they said. "And maybe, it's because you don't know if your feelings will be shared out there in the real world. But you won't know that unless you're willing to find out. Just give yourself time, darling."_

But how _much_ time? When would Frasier stop scrutinizing himself and take that leap into the unknown?

When would he know whether or not these dreams might led to something more, something... _real?_

* * *

For the next few days, Frasier continued to receive gifts from his 'secret admirer'. After the flowers came a box of gourmet chocolates, and after the chocolates was a selection of the finest pastries. His 'admirer' clearly wasn't going for subtlety, and the message on the pastry box made him outright guffaw: _Tempting treats for a most tempting gent._

On the fourth day, Frasier practically fainted on the spot. He had opened another blank envelope and pulled out... two tickets to the symphony!

He and Niles had _desperately_ been trying to get tickets for the first performance of the season, with no luck. The box office sold out quickly, and they hadn't found anyone who had changed their minds and were willing to part with a couple of tickets. 

Frasier's hands shook as he stared at them. This was simply too much... how could he possibly accept these? This was _too_ generous of a gift! 

Someone tapped on the sound room glass. He jolted and looked up to see Roz on the other side.

"You okay in there, Frasier?" she asked. "You look like you're going to pass out." 

He nodded. "Yes, I'm... fine."

Except he was actually far from fine. He was touched, and ecstatic, and he needed to tell Niles all about this or else he'd explode.

Even as he went on the air, his mind wandered to another place entirely. He didn't remember what he told his callers, or even what he said to his coworkers throughout the day. He was soaring above them all, content and more than a little awestruck.

* * *

"So, you think Gil Chesterton is the one leaving you all of these gifts?" said Niles. 

He and Frasier had finally arranged to meet over the weekend at Café Nervosa. It was one of their favorite places to hang out and indulge in some of the finest caffeinated beverages on this side of Seattle.

Niles' recent workload had definitely taken a toll on him. His bloodshot eyes struggled to focus on Frasier for very long, and his latte consumption had begun climbing to an unhealthy amount in just the last thirty minutes. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Niles succumbed to his binge-drinking induced caffeine high, bolted from his chair, and started running a marathon around the café. 

"Yes, I'm sure it's Gil," Frasier said. "I just don't know _why_ he's doing this or what I should do about it." 

Niles tried to get the attention of one of the waiters, having just finished his sixth latte. Frasier intervened by pulling down Niles' arm and mustering up his sternest look. Niles scowled at him for a moment in silence.

"Wouldn't logic suggest," he said at last, "that these gifts are a sign that Gil wants to pursue a relationship with you? I mean, just look at the evidence we have... poetry, flowers, chocolate, pastries--and now these concert tickets." He lifted up the envelope Frasier had brought with him. "It seems like this is starting to go beyond just mere friendship." 

Frasier sighed. "I suppose so." 

The brothers fell into a pensive silence. They took in their surroundings, watching people shift past their table or catching a few words of a friendly conversation. After several beats, Niles tapped against his cup and Frasier's attention snapped back to him. 

"Niles," he said seriously. "Do you think this is all just a joke?" 

Niles started, peering at him with wide, confused eyes. "What are you talking about?" 

Frasier didn't want to face the insecurities that had been lurking in him for some time. He would be lying if he said he hadn't considered them before now. But having Niles here, and seeing that he was engaged with the matter (at least as much as he could while suffering from exhaustion), Frasier couldn't stop himself from finally giving those insecurities a voice. 

"What I mean is, do you think Gil is only giving me these gifts as a... a joke?" he asked. "I've told you about some of my coworkers and their various pranks over the years. Perhaps this is just the latest in another long line of pranks." 

Niles pondered that. 

"Well, it's possible," he admitted. "But from what you've told me..." 

"Or maybe it's not really Gil at all!" Frasier interrupted.

Now that the idea had surfaced, he couldn't push it back down. The sharp, sudden clarity of it was a slap to the face. 

"Of course," he said, warming to the conclusion. "Roz told a bunch of people at the station about my dreams. Now, she or someone else must be trying to give the impression that Gil is sending all of these gifts. Maybe Gil even knows what they're doing and is playing along. Who knows? And then, once I get my hopes high enough, they'll reveal everything as a prank to embarrass me yet again!" 

Niles shook his head slowly and said, "Frasier, don't you think you're extrapolating a bit too much?" 

But Frasier dismissed him with a wave. 

"Nonsense! That _has_ to be the answer. I don't know why it wasn't obvious before." He smiled at his brother. "Thank you, Niles! Because of you, I'm finally seeing things clearly now." 

If Frasier had been paying attention, he would have noticed the way Niles rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation. 

"Always happy to help, Frasier," muttered Niles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frasier is the master of self-doubt, isn't he? And also the master of jumping to conclusions that may or may not be well-founded. We'll see if he finally get his sh*t together. :)


	4. No One Makes a Fool Out of Me (Except...Me)

"Very clever!" Frasier declared as he approached Roz the next day. He brandished the envelope with the concert tickets at her and shook his head from side to side. 

Roz narrowed her eyes, looking from his face to the envelope in his hand.

"What's clever?" she asked.

"I'm onto this little game," he said. "I don't know _who_ the real culprit behind this is, but I'm determined to find out. Because whoever's leading me on with these silly little presents, they'd better watch their back. Dr. Frasier Crane is _not_ a man to be messed with!" 

Roz tried to contain her laughter, but it came out as a snort. "Oh, I get it. You think I might have something to do with the gifts, right? Is it because I was teasing you about making that bet last week?"

Frasier planted his hands on his hips.

"I don't know," he shot back, _"do_ you have something to do with this, Roz?"

 _"Frasier."_ She rolled her eyes. "Look--I know it isn't my business how you feel about anyone around here. And if you want me to apologize for telling people about your dreams, then I will... I'm sorry." 

Frasier blinked, surprised by her sincerity for a moment.

"Well, thank you," he said. "I accept your apology. Now, about these gifts--" 

But Roz interrupted, "I have nothing to do with them." There was a deliberate pause, and at last she added with an small, unreadable smile on her face, "Well, not _exactly."_

"A- _ha!_ " cried Frasier, pointing at her in triumph. "I knew it! Is it you? Someone else? Tell me everything!" 

Roz crossed her arms, delight leaping into her eyes. "I hate to break it to you, Frasier, but you're not going to get anything out of me. I promised to keep my lips sealed." 

Frasier groaned. He started pacing the room, the gears whirling furiously inside his head. Finally, he turned back to Roz. 

"Look, I know I'm not the most laid-back person here," he said. "I've been told that I can be too serious, stuffy, and generally speaking, not always easy to have a 'normal' conversation with. But Roz, these practical jokes are simply getting on my last _nerve!_ I can only take so much before it gets tiresome." 

Frasier sank into his chair, running a hand across his face. He truly _was_ exhausted by all of this--he just wanted some closure, a nice and tidy explanation. Why couldn't his hopes finally be dashed to pieces once and for all, so that he could move on with life as usual? Was that too much to ask? 

"Frasier, what are you--" Roz began. 

But the door opened at that moment, and Gil Chesterton strolled into the room, the complete image of poise and nonchalance. He flashed his most winning smile at the two of them. He held one hand behind his back in what seemed like a dignified type of manner, while the other hand reached up to tweak his bowtie--which was a striking shade of red--to just the right angle.

"Hello, hello," he said. "Ah, and how are we today, my dear Frasier?" 

Frasier eyed him glumly, tossing a half-hearted shrug.

"Abysmal, disheartened, you name it," he sighed. He heard Roz cough the word _melodramatic,_ and he sent what he hoped was a withering look in her direction. 

Gil's smile retreated, and concern quickly eclipsed his features. He reached out and squeezed Frasier's arm.

"Oh, no," he said. "I'm awfully sorry to hear that. Is there anything Mummy Gilbert can do to help? A divinely-brewed beverage, perhaps, or some scintillating music?" 

A strange rush of anger seized Frasier. He didn't know if it was directed at Gil, or Roz, or himself, but he had to get away from this room now. Without any warning he pulled his arm away from Gil, stood up, and stormed out of the room. 

_I can't deal with this anymore,_ he thought. _I can't keep clinging to something that's never going to happen. And I can't stand the suspense of this dreadful prank, either. Why can't they just get it over with already?_

"You look like you're about to pounce on the next unsuspecting person who crosses your path," Gil remarked. "It's a rather unbecoming look for you, Frasier."

Frasier spun on his heel, staring at Gil leaning from the doorway. 

"Can't you just leave me alone?" he snapped. "I don't need your input, _Chesterton."_

Hurt flashed in Gil's eyes, so his tone obviously must have stung. But Frasier didn't care. He gave an indignant huff and turned his back to the man. He was almost tempted to walk out of the station altogether, but something (God knew _what_ at this point) made him stay put. 

Silence reigned for several intervals. He wondered what Gil was thinking, or if he had decided that Frasier was simply a lost cause and not worth the trouble of speaking to for the rest of the day. Or perhaps forever. But then, a bright splash of color caught his eye. He turned fully to see that Gil had walked up behind him and was holding out... a rose. 

"You may not need my input, _Dr. Crane_ ," he said, in a soft, curt voice. "But I think you do, at the very least, need my sympathy." 

Frasier accepted the rose without a word, and Gil immediately went on his way. As Frasier watched him disappear from sight, a dull, heavy weight settled into the pit of his stomach.

This was different than the nausea he sometimes felt after doing something stupid or upsetting his moral compass. This was regret, bitterness, and a little hint of grief all rolled into one massive, churning lump. 

He looked down at the rose, grasping the stem more tightly between his fingers. 

"You fool," Frasier whispered to himself. "You damned fool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want these two to be fighting or upset at each other, but here we are. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (Truly, from the bottom of my heart... my bad.)


	5. Taking a Leap

As soon as Frasier stepped through the door, Martin and Niles seemed to sense his miserable state of mind and sprang swiftly into action. 

"Frasier, what happened?" asked Niles. 

"Yeah, you look terrible," Martin said. He gestured at the couch with his cane. "Sit down, son. Something's really got you down, hasn't it?" 

Frasier could only nod--words weren't sufficient to describe the gloom hanging over him. He let his brother and dad direct him over to the couch. He clutched the rose from Gil against his chest, afraid it might shrivel up and die if he let it go. The only time it had left his grasp at all was on the drive back home, and even doing _that_ had caused him significant anxiety.

"Now, I understand that what I'm about to say will undoubtedly be horrible timing," said Niles, in that calm psychiatrist voice Frasier could pick up on in a heartbeat. "But, given that the situation has been ongoing for awhile now, I thought it only reasonable that Dad should be brought up to speed on things... so to speak."

Frasier heaved out a unsteady sigh that bordered on a sob. He hung his head in resignation. 

"For the love of God, Niles," he said. "I thought you of all people had better judgment than that." He lifted his head to glare weakly at his brother. "Remind me _never_ to entrust you with anything again." 

Martin sat down heavily beside Frasier. Niles remained standing, but stood back a few paces, as if he thought Frasier might try to lash out at him (which still wasn't out of the question yet). 

No one spoke for a minute. Then, in a surprisingly gentle tone, Martin asked, "Why didn't you tell me about this new stuff between you and Gil Chesterton?"

Frasier didn't answer at first. Instead, he stared at the rose and attempted to gather his thoughts into some kind of sensible order. 

"Well," he began slowly, "to be frank with you, Dad, I didn't know what you might say if I told you that I'm still not sure about my... my sexuality. I thought I'd figured it all out, had finally hit on some reasonable conclusion. But--" He cut himself off, making a frustrated gesture. "Oh, Dad, you don't want to hear any of this! It will just make us both even more uncomfortable, so forget it."

"No," Martin said. He placed a firm hand on Frasier's shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. He couldn't exactly read his dad's expression, but he _hoped_ that what he was seeing there was a hint of kindness. 

"You _are_ right, Frasier," Martin went on, "I can't say that I'm totally comfortable talking about this. But then, I've never really _had_ a conversation like this until recently. So, keep talking to me... I want to listen, okay?"

Frasier held his dad's gaze, taken aback by his candor. When he first broached this subject, Martin had seemed a little uneasy. He'd said something about how a discussion regarding sexuality might be easier for younger people to have, but not always for older folks like himself. Frasier had naturally, at that point, assumed that his dad wouldn't be welcome to that kind of dialogue between them. 

But Niles _must_ have gotten through to Martin somehow--enough for him to actually try and restart that dialogue now. Part of Frasier felt thankful for that. The other part, however, still wanted to grab Niles by his lapels and shake him senseless. 

So, with a deep breath, Frasier summarized the last couple of weeks to his dad. He talked, in broad terms, about a few of his most recent dreams and how they had offered him a great sense of comfort. He also explained about the gifts he'd received at work, starting with the flowers and culminating in the concert tickets and the final rose. He held out that same rose at one point as he spoke, admiring the soft velvety petals. When he turned to look at his dad, he had broken out in a smile. 

"It sounds like Gil means a lot to you, son," Martin said. 

"Yeah," Frasier agreed, "I... I think he does. Maybe he's a meant a lot to me for a long time, but I guess I'll never know just how much." 

_I'll never know... because I'm terrified..._

His legs had turned stiff from sitting on the couch, so he rose to his feet to stretch them out. He paced restlessly from his dad's chair to the end of the coffee table, repeating the stride for a handful of seconds. But it didn't calm the storm inside him, the one that had been brewing and seething for weeks.

Frasier stopped to face Niles and Martin. He took a long, shuddering breath.

"You know what the sad part of it is? The sad part is, I'm still not convinced that this isn't all just one elaborate prank. Because... "

He closed his eyes. He couldn't hold back the emotional storm anymore--the strain of it was simply too much. His last shred of control crumbled, and he let it all swell through him unchecked... the hope, the regret, and everything in between. 

"Because who would want to be with someone like me? I'm paranoid and neurotic, and I can never let myself be happy. And even when I _do_ find someone that I want to share my time with, who I care about deeply, it... it always goes _wrong_ somehow. There was Nanette, then Diane, and of course Lilith. And just when I discover these feelings I have for Gil, I'm left wondering if I'm being made a fool out of." 

Niles moved toward him, giving his arm a brief, reassuring pat. 

"Frasier," he said softly, "if you want my honest opinion, you haven't exactly given this relationship a fighting chance. You can't expect to know Gil's true feelings until you let go of your own uncertainties about them. Trust what your dreams have been trying to tell you. Take a leap of faith." 

This time, when Frasier closed his eyes again, a single tear slid down his cheek. 

"You're right," he said. "I know you're right, Niles. I... I just hope it's not too late to mend things."

* * *

The tumultuous conversation with his family left Frasier in a bit of a whirl. So much so, in fact, that the next day he had to muffle a loud holler of relief when he saw the note left on his desk.

_If temptation is still strong, meet at Seattle Center Opera House between 6:30 - 7:00 next week. Performance at 7:30. If not, leave tickets in studio and all will be forgotten. - G._

Frasier had already made up his mind--had said to hell with it and decided to take that leap at last. He smiled to think of pulling out his best suit for the occasion.


	6. A Night With the Symphony (Part 1)

The vibrant city streets twinkled with life as Frasier navigated his way to the Seattle Center. He had been looking forward to this night for days, and his excitement practically crackled around him like lightning. 

Niles, Daphne, and even Martin had helped him prepare for the event. His brother took his suit to get cleaned and pressed--although he _did_ grumble at one point, Frasier noticed with smug delight, about not getting to see the symphony himself.

Daphne helped him pick out a small bouquet to bring along. Martin--in his well-intentioned, fatherly way--also tried to offer a sense of security, which amused him more than anything. It reminded Frasier of similar talks that Martin had given when he or Niles went out with someone. He supposed that, after so many years in law enforcement, his dad would still do everything possible to make sure his sons were responsible and safe. 

"You'll tell me if he gets too fresh with you, right?" Martin asked. "Let him know that your father's an ex-cop, and that he won't hesitant to send along a few of his buddies to keep things civil." 

"Dad, _please,"_ groaned Frasier, a blush creeping over his face. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm positive that Gil will be a perfect gentleman."

Martin didn't react for a moment, but then he nodded slowly. 

"All right. Good. But don't forget--"

Frasier cut in gently, "--to behave myself and make a note of all the exits, I know, Dad. Don't worry." 

Frasier still couldn't believe it, in a way. That he was driving to see the symphony, that Gil would actually be _meeting_ him there. And that, overall, his family seemed okay with him giving this his best shot. His dad especially seemed to be making the effort to take things in stride, which was honestly mind-boggling to him. Martin was one of the last people he had expected to be that way. Hopefully, he thought, his attitude would continue to adjust and his mind would stay open. 

Frasier ensured that his intentions for the evening were clear; right after he discovered Gil's note in the studio, he left one of his own. It read:

 _Rest assured, the temptation is still_ _very strong indeed._ _See you next week. I'll bring the tickets. - F._

He remembered how mortified he'd felt when Gil stepped into Café Nervosa weeks ago, revealing that the station gossip had finally reached his ears. Gil laughed it off at the time, pithily promising to "see him in his dreams." But had he found it... _weird..._ that a fellow coworker thought about him in such a personal manner?

That was a question that still nagged at Frasier. He would be a little nervous around Gil tonight, suffice it say, despite his willingness to explore what this relationship could become. He certainly didn't want to rush into a situation that might make either of them uncomfortable, though, especially an intimate one. (His libido, however, _clearly_ needed to calm the heck down and give his dreams a break.)

Frasier thought about the gifts again and smiled. He was fine with going slow, with testing out these unchartered waters. That in itself was quite exhilarating. 

* * *

McCaw Hall looked stunning. As Frasier approached the concert venue, he stared at the soft indigo and cobalt lights that illuminated the curved glass on the front of the building, as well as the large metal beams that crossed high over the courtyard. Clusters of people, many well-dressed and others tastefully casual, climbed up the steps toward the hall, with many more standing outside. 

It took some time to find a suitable parking space. But as Frasier looked at his watch, which read _6:40,_ he could relax somewhat knowing that he still had time to spare. He turned off the car, grabbed the flowers from the passenger's seat, and headed off. 

He weaved his way quickly through the crowd. He was careful not to jostle into anyone and risk damaging the bouquet, but he did end up needing to steady an older woman who missed a step going up on the stairs. She regained her balance fairly quickly, and Frasier's flowers also remained uncrushed. 

He noticed the woman's startled expression, so he kept a hand on her arm and asked, "Ma'am, are you all right?" 

"I certainly hope so," she said. She pressed a delicate hand to her bosom, and he could see the many large veins that stood out against her pale skin. "Bless you, young man. For a moment there, I thought I was about to crack my poor head open and go to the see the Lord!" 

Frasier chuckled at her pronouncement. "We wouldn't want that, would we? The fun hasn’t even started yet."

She agreed, making a remark about how she had a lot of 'spunk' and 'moxie' left in her yet. Frasier laughed again, which helped ease his nerves, before the sheer volume of the crowd forced them to separate. 

He found a quieter spot to stand away from the entrance. He could watch for Gil as the patrons moved in a continuous stream into the hall, while not worrying whether he would get pulled into the maelstrom of bodies himself. Nervously, he glanced at his watch once again: _6:45._

"He'll be here," Frasier murmured. "He will... just be patient." 

The waiting didn't last much longer. A few minutes passed, and then, he finally spotted Gil amongst the sea of patrons. He waved to catch the man's attention. 

Frasier held his breath as Gil noticed him and broke free from the crowd. He looked... well, _stunning._ There was no other way to describe him. The lights from the venue washed over Gil's features, and his eyes twinkled with a warmth and merriment that made Frasier's knees quiver. He had dressed in a suit, of course, and to top off the whole look, he wore a bowtie in the most fetching shade of coral that Frasier had ever seen. 

_Stunning,_ he thought again. _I can't believe I've been doubtful this whole time..._

"Good evening, Dr. Crane," said Gil as he approached, a radiant smile on his lips. 

"Good evening," Frasier said.

He stared at Gil, still enjoying his appearance, before he recognized the awkward silence stretching between them. 

He went on hurriedly, "Oh, I'm sorry, um... these are for you." He held out the flowers. "I figured I should start by giving _you_ something--you know, to return the favor for your generosity. A good friend of mine helped me pick them out." 

Gil laughed and took the flowers. He held one of the roses up to breathe in its scent, and to Frasier's relief, he looked content and pleased. 

"How kind of you!" he replied. He held Frasier's gaze for a moment, but then tension gathered in his face and he abruptly looked away.

Frasier reacted instinctively, asking, "What's wrong?" 

Gil took a deep breath and fiddled with his bow-tie. His free hand was shaking slightly, Frasier noticed with a start.

Finally, he said, "I'm glad you came-- _truly_ , I am. But I had this awful thought on my way here that you'd... well, changed your mind at the last minute. That I was overcompensating with the gifts. _Everything_ , really." He punctuated the last remark with a strained chuckle. "Naturally, I've been under the assumption that you wereinterested in me, but... "

As Gil trailed off, Frasier grabbed his hand and slowly laced their fingers together. He heard Gil's breath falter, and they both exhaled quietly into the night air. 

"Then, you don't think I'm strange?" Frasier inquired, unable to help himself. "For those dreams, I mean? For being... curious?" 

This time, a surprised laugh came from Gil.

"Oh, dear me, no!" he assured. "I _was_ a little caught off guard when I heard the rumors floating around the halls of our trusted KACL. But most of all, after giving the whole matter a great deal of thought, I was flattered." The tense lines around his eyes smoothed over, and he gave Frasier a softer smile. "And... for the first time, it felt like I could make my feelings known. Like I could stop pretending."

Frasier swallowed, unable to process Gil's words for a minute. _My feelings... could stop pretending..._ Well, that surely sounded like he--like Gil had... 

"I'd say we have a long night ahead of us, don't we," said Gil, disrupting his train of thought. "Are you ready, Frasier?" 

He squeezed Frasier's hand more firmly. That simple action seemed to electrify his nerves, and heighten his senses. He was attuned to every tiny movement and sound--whether it was the warm, solid contact of his and Gil's hands, the unsteady rush of his breath, or the renewed quivering in his knees. 

Frasier didn't trust himself to speak at first. He nodded once. 

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I think I'm ready." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a fun time researching the Seattle area for this chapter! I'm not personally from Seattle, so please don't hesitate to let me know if I've goofed with any places names and such. :)


End file.
